


Marked by Fate

by TheScholarlyStrumpet (equipoise)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Rumbelle Christmas in July 2016, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tumblr Prompt, rcij
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7582705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equipoise/pseuds/TheScholarlyStrumpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle and Rumplestiltskin both developed mysterious marks as children, designating them as two of the lucky few who would find a soulmate. Starry-eyed dreams would fade in the light of harsh reality. But Fate will find a way. This wasn’t exactly the love story either were expecting but it could still lead to a Happily Ever After.</p><p>Rumbelle Christmas in July for penguinboy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Queen Collette and King Maurice tried for years to have a child. The advice of medics, the prayers of clerics, herbal concoctions that smelled awful and tasted worse - nothing helped. Still Collette’s womb remained barren. It was only after meeting with a local midwife (rumored to be a hedgewitch, as well) that Collette was able to convince her husband to try one more time. She would never tell Maurice what the old woman told her or what had changed her tearful countenance to one of serene acceptance upon leaving the midwife’s ivy-covered cottage. Maurice had his suspicions but he kept them to himself. He was getting on in years and had no heir. And he loved his wife. They’d married for duty, not love, but the years had made them both grow fond in their own ways.

Lo and behold, a few weeks later, Collette told him, tears in her eyes, that she was with child. The usual amount of time passed, with Maurice doting on his wife and her swelling belly. He prayed for a strapping boy, one who could keep their lands and people safe. The day of the birth, he rushed to Collette’s bedside as soon as the healers would let him. She was flushed and breathless, a sheen of sweat on her brow and a mewling babe at her breast.

“It is a girl.”

Maurice felt his heart fall at that announcement. He tried not to let his face betray his disappointment. Keeping his spirits buoyed for Collette’s sake, he looked upon his daughter’s face for the very first time. And she was beautiful. She was not the son he’d longed for but a lovelier child he could not have imagined. They decided easily on a name; they called her Belle.

***

Belle was 10 years of age when she first noticed the strange mark upon her chest. It was perfectly round, with evenly spaced lines all meeting at a point in the center. She had been nude in her bath, before, but she could not recall having seen it until that moment. She ran her finger the perimeter of it. She scrubbed at it with the cloth she used in her tub. The skin beneath it grew pink with her efforts but the mark did not budge.

She frowned, perplexed by this new development. She made a note to look through the books they kept on anatomy after her lessons with her governess.

That evening, as she sat at Mama’s knee, already dressed for bed, and listened to her read the newest in their ever-expanding collection of novels, Belle pondered telling her mother about the mark she’d found. Nothing in any anatomy book seemed to match it, though there was warning about dark patches of skin that grew in size. Soon, however, she was swept up in the romance of the story and the cadence of Mama’s voice. She forgot her own predicament completely. The next thing she recalled was being carried to her bedchamber by one of Papa’s most trusted servants.

The next day, Belle woke early. The sun was just rising behind her gauzy curtains. She scrambled to her feet, flinching at the chill on the stone floor. At the window, she pulled aside the curtain and unlaced her nightdress. The odd circle was still there. In fact, it looked darker. Though, perhaps that was just the effect of seeing it in sunlight. She pulled on her dressing gown and slippers and padded down the echoey, high-ceilinged hallway to Mama’s chambers.

Collette was still abed but she sleepily welcomed her little daughter, holding up a blanket for Belle to crawl under it.

“Bad dream, my sweet?” Collette asked, hugging Belle to her.

Belle shook her head. “Mama… I… I found something strange. May I show you?”

Collette moved back to meet her eyes. “Of course, darling. You may always show me anything”

Belle swallowed and sat up, pulling back the unlaced opening of her gown and revealing the circle. “What is it, Mama? Am I ill?”

Collette took a sharp breath, her eyes riveted to the mark. At last she spoke, gently closing and re-lacing Belle’s nightdress. “No, my darling. You’re not ill. It is… it is something I had been forewarned could appear. It is called a soulmark and it is very old magic.”

“How old? Older than Papa? Older than Nana Dulcet?” Belle’s eyes were round and wide, her voice reverently hushed. Nana Dulcet, who used to run the kitchen but now mostly supervised was a tiny bent mass of wrinkles. She smiled with no teeth and stood barely taller than Belle was now.  Belle adored the sweet old woman and often brought her an extra soft roll from their breakfast table.

Collette gave a small chuckle. “Yes, much older than Papa and Nana Dulcet. Older than this castle and even the name of the land on which it sits.”

Belle took a moment to try and process this. She had read many books on human history, how the names and occupants of lands could change over the years, how the very lands themselves may have shifted a long, long time ago. It was a great deal to fathom, that this mark on her very young body could be part of something so ancient. “What does it mean?” she asked at last.

Collette looked away briefly then back with a smile that left her eyes looking oddly sad. “It means that you are meant for a great destiny, my Belle. That there is a match for you, somewhere in this land and together you will do great things.”

“Like Princess Phillipa and Prince Armand?” Belle thought of the sweepingly dramatic tale she and Mama had taken turns reading aloud the night before. It was a dazzling prospect, to find such a thing as True Love.

Collette hesitated but then nodded, her face brightening. “I truly cannot say, my love. All I was told was that your mark would lead you to the true mate of your heart. One who would love you unfailingly. And you would feel the same, in return.”

Belle bit her lower lip, nearly bouncing with eager anticipation, now. “Should we tell Papa?”

Collette gathered Belle’s small hands in both of hers. “Belle, I do not think this should be spoken of to anyone else. Magic can be frightening and… unpredictable to some. There are many who do not trust it. And with good reason. For all magic comes with a price.”

Belle’s brow furrowed as she took this in, as well, observing her mother’s sudden shift away from levity. “I understand,” she said, with all the gravitas an excited child could possibly muster. “I’m sure Papa has many other concerns, right now, anyway. I heard from Patrice that there are rumors of Ogre attacks in the outskirts of the Marchlands.”

Collette raised both eyebrows at that. “Heard from Patrice?” She narrowed her eyes. “Have you been spying on Papa’s Council’s again?”

Belle looked away, guiltily. “No…?”

Collette shook her head, biting back a laugh. “Oh, my Belle. You know Papa would be very unhappy if he knew you did such things…”

Belle’s lower lip protruded, though she knew it would only make her look more childish. “He’d let me if I’d been born a boy.” As an afterthought she added, “and I bet a boy wouldn’t even have a soulmark destiny like I do.”

Collette could find no argument to this logic. She merely kissed the top of Belle’s head and extracted a promise from her not to listen to Maurice’s council unless invited. In return, Collette pledged she would speak to Maurice about letting Belle attend the more important sessions.

They snuggled down under the covers, Belle’s pride assuaged and her imagination taking flight. She dozed off in  Collette’s arms, recounting the many adventures she might have, one day.

Collette listened in bittersweet bliss. She had purposely failed to mention one last part of the hedgewitch’s prophecy: that she, herself, would not remain of this earth to see her daughter’s destiny fulfilled. When she made the deal, those 11 years ago, it had been enough to know that her child would be safe and loved, even if it could not always be by her.

***

Belle grew to be lovelier every day. There was not a person in the kingdom who met her and did not remark upon her beauty. But what won her the love of her people was her kind nature. There was a rare week that did not find her in the village, tending to the sick or reading to the peasant children. King Maurice was not the wealthiest of sovereigns, more a king in title than anything else, but his daughter gave all she could to those on their land.

Collette watched her gentle, inquisitive child blossom into a clever and generous young woman. Her heart swelled with maternal pride. Their kingdom could not ask for a better hero.

For his part, even Maurice was often impressed by how quickly his daughter grasped complicated matters of state. As acts of aggression grew between the Ogres and their people in the Eastern regions, Belle kept her head. It was, in fact, her idea that they lighten tithes for all those involved in the efforts to keep the Ogres at bay. His advisers had been against it but the decree, once passed, had helped to rally the villagers. It was no longer only those able bodied enough to fight who felt they could contribute without losing what little livelihood they had. With the help of his people, King Maurice fortified his villages and towns, but it would not hold forever. He was but one man and his army was small compared to the Ogres’. The only real strength left was his pretty daughter. She deserved more than to be a bauble on some man’s arm, but in time of war, life became about necessity. Gaston Le Rou may have had a less than pristine reputation but he also had an army. Perhaps one large enough to win the imminent war.

For years, Belle had dreamt of the one who would bear a mark to match hers. Mother was unsure what her mate’s soulmark might look like, only that she would know it upon sight. Belle had spent hours pouring over every text she could find on Magic, both new and old. Anything to give her a clue. It was not to be found. A few dusty, yellowed tomes made oblique reference to soulmarks and the power of true love, but nothing conclusive. Nothing to point her in the right direction. It was an exercise in frustration, longing each day to begin this new destiny, find the path to her life’s great adventure, and yet remain always in the same place. But her people needed her and that meant destiny would just have to wait.

What she did not count upon was Papa intervening. True to her word, she’d never mentioned the mark to her father. It was easy to hide, nestled low, between her breasts. Even the lowest bodices covered it and she was not not frequently immodest in the company of men.

Especially men like this Gaston, who fancied himself quite the rake, if even the smallest of rumor was true.

At first he surprised her, seeming gentle and almost kind. Belle found herself wondering, as they strolled through the wood, if perhaps there was a chance that Gaston had a hidden mark, as well. Her mother always told her, one could not tell what was inside a person’s heart until one truly knew them. She admitted to herself that she did not know Gaston at all and it was unfair to judge him thusly. Still, she was uneasy. She could not shake the feeling that the man courting her was not being his true self. Their encounter with the Ogre child and the glimpse his reflection in the mirror fragment proved her suspicions had been well founded.

Unfortunately, war was declared that very evening. Gaston’s men would reinforce their battle, perhaps saving thousands of innocent lives.

“You’d be our hero.”

Her father spoke the words and a shiver ran down her spine. Surely this was not the destiny she was meant to fulfill? To marry Gaston? Be his little wife? Her throat felt tight, unshed tears burning the backs of her eyes as Gaston extended his hand. Her father was watching, his face grave. It was for the good of her people, of her family, she reminded herself. This could end the war. What else could she do but accept?

As she put her hand in his, she could have sworn she felt her soulmark burning.

Time passed in a flurry of maps and strategies. Gaston tried to keep her out of the War Council room more often than not, now. She and Mother spent their days in the library, researching battles of the past, in an effort to keep themselves both useful and distracted. It was in that very library that Belle lost her mother, when the castle was overrun by ogres. The last thing she remembered was the world going dark.

She woke up to a world she could barely recognize. No mother by her side, Father being secretive and cold. They were stationed at Gaston’s castle, now, provided every comfort. But Belle recognized her well furnished room for what it was - a prison. She could not stand to be trapped and kept ignorant, left to wallow in her grief. She struck out on her own to Arrendale to seek out the secrets locked away in her mind, but that adventure only brought her more tragedy. The only boon to come of that disastrous visit was the knowledge the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin.

After her declaration that she would be the hero their kingdom needed, Maurice began to allow Belle into the war room. It seemed it was already too late for her to make much use of herself, there, but she appreciated the gesture.

Every strategy had failed and still the Ogres advanced. Avonlea fell and the Dark One had not shown himself. Belle tried her best to assure her father that there was still hope. She had to believe in hope, it was all they had left.

And then there was a knock at the door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Rumplestiltskin was 6 years old when the mark on his chest first appeared. His father had abandoned him to stay forever a child in Neverland. He came home weeping and was taken in by his aunts. A day later, Aunt Nettie had him bring in water from the well and heat it in the tin tub they kept for bathing.

“Smell like a barn animal you do,” the older woman remarked, handing him a roughspun rag. “And don’t go putting that kit back on. I’ve left out an old tunic ye’ can borrow until we’ve come back with some more clothes for ye.”

“Don’t forget to wash behind them ears so’s you don’t grow mushrooms,” Aunt Hedda added, chortling.

They left him to bathe, reminding him that they’d be back from market in a few hours. Listlessly, Rumplestiltskin pulled off his dirty clothes and dropped them in a heap. The water was just a little too hot and he winced as he stepped in. He washed his hair, scrubbing behind both ears as instructed, and tilted his head down to get at the back of his neck. Then he saw it. A dark, sort of oblong shape in the center of his chest, no bigger than his palm. He wrinkled his neck peering at it. He brought the cloth around to his front and swiped but the shape did not smear or change. It looked a bit like an ugly hat, with a looping ribbon on one side.

He sighed heavily, mouth pulling down hard at the corners as his eyes filled. Not only was he the unwanted son of a coward but now he’d caught some sort of pox on his chest. For all he knew, he’d be dead before his Aunties got home. Not that they’d miss him either. They’d been kind enough, he supposed but he knew he was really just a burden to everyone. He pulled his knees up to his chest so the rounded edges stuck out of the water, and put his head down on them. His whole body shook as he thought of his father and his aunties and all the town who already called him names.

He’d tried to get away, to start anew, but even that had failed. Because of him. What had he even thought would happen?

Some time later, Heddie and Netta made their way home with a couple of essentials for their new permanent houseguest. They were squabbling over some trifling item or another when Hedda exclaimed, “Rumple! What on earth are you still doing in there?”

The boy was sitting stock still in tepid water. He looked up at her as she approached with the largest, saddest eyes she’d ever seen.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, climbing out of the tub. His limbs had gone numb and rubbery from sitting too long and he slipped, one hand shooting out by instinct. Hedda grabbed him and nearly tumbled down, herself, in the process. Behind her, Nettie was tutting away about children and daydreaming, but she hadn’t seen the look on the poor boy’s face.

Once righted on his feet, Rumplestiltskin looked down. “M’sorry,” he repeated, covering his private parts with his hands, skinny shoulders hunched.

Hedda swallowed, feeling her heart out out to the lad as it never had before. They’d agreed to take him in because you don’t turn your back on family. This was something different, this was a soul in need. “It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re not in trouble. Just gave us a fright is all,” Hedda assured him.

“Water all over the floor,” grumbled Nettie as she grabbed the mop.

Rumplestiltskin sniffed, seeming to sink even further in on himself but Hedda gripped his chin lightly between forefinger and thumb and directed him to look at her. “Never you mind Aunt Nettie. She’s always fussy. You done nothing wrong, hear me?” He eyed her doubtfully but nodded when she released his chin. “There’s a good lad. Let’s get you dry and dressed, eh?”

She was reaching for a drying rag when the boy spoke again, a tremor in his voice.

“I think I… I think I’ve got a pox.”

Hedda and Nettie looked at his pale, earnest face and then at one another.

“Oh, you’re far too young for that sort of business, lad,” Nettie asserted, propping the mop against the wall and crouching down to Rumplestiltskin’s height. “Have you got some sort of rash on your bits, now?”

Rumplestiltskin flushed bright red. “No! It’s just this.” He removed one hand from where he was covering said “bits” and pointed to the shape on his chest.

Hedda went about handing him the drying rag, a scrap of fabric big enough to cover him from shoulders to knees. Such a wee thing, she thought. “That’s not a birthmark, then?” She’d never seen her nephew with his kit off before so it was not so’s she’d have noticed.

He shook his head.

“And you never had it until today?”

He shook his head again as Hedda and Nettie exchanged another glance, this one more significant than the last. Nettie straightened up and smiled at him. “You’ve been touched by magic, son. That, there, is a soulmark if I’m not mistaken.”

Hedda gasped, rounding to the front of him and taking him by the shoulders. “Glory be! Is it true?” She faced him, tilting her head to the side. “Looks a bit like a teacup, though, doesn’t it?”

Nettie shrugged. “They come in all shapes.”

Rumplestiltskin’s face crinkled, curiosity and a touch of fear in his eyes. “What does? What is it?”

Hedda ran her fingers through his damp hair. “A soulmark. One of the oldest magics. It means you’re one of the lucky ones.”

Rumplestiltskin adjusted the rag to cover himself completely and shuffled his bare feet. “Don’t feel so lucky, Aunties.”

“Oh, but you are, sweetheart. That mark means you’ll find true love. And true love means happiness. I promise.” She looked at affectionately Nettie, who returned the look and took her free hand.

“True Love,” Rumplestiltskin breathed the words, scarcely believing such a thing could be his. Love and happiness. The only things he’d ever longed for. He felt giddy with the very thought.

Later that night, as Rumplestiltskin slept soundly for the first time in far too long, Hedda brushed Nettie’s hair by the fire.

“Do you think it’s true?” she whispered.

Nettie turned her head slightly. “What?”

Hedda lowered the brush. “That old wive’s tale about the soulmark and what it means. Do you think he’s really marked for a soulmate?”

Nettie was quiet for a moment, her face thoughtful. “I don’t know,” she confessed, glancing at the sleeping boy. “But he seemed like he needed to hear it.”

Hedda nodded, resuming her brushing. “And it very well could be true. Those tales got told for a reason.”

“It could be,” Nettie agreed.

***

Rumplestiltskin grew to be a very talented young man behind the spinning wheel. The thread he spun was prized in the village. At the local market it fetched a respectable sum. As his Aunties grew older, he began to take on more and more of the work they had once performed for the locals. People in town still knew him as Malcolm’s boy but the name calling had mostly stopped. He was a respectable vendor, now. He made a good product at a fair price and there was not a mother’s son felt ashamed to do business with him.

Then came the long winter when Auntie Hedda caught a chill. Rumplestiltskin took over the full workload for both Aunts, so that Nettie could nurse her. Night and day, Nettie was at Hedda’s bedside with tea, soup, and herbs. Rumplestiltskin spun for hours, spun until his hands hurt, just to keep his mind off the inevitable. One morning, Nettie woke him with a pale, grave face.

“She’s gone.”

Rumplestiltskin wanted to offer words of comfort, something meaningful and kind, but they stuck in his throat and all he could do was nod and go to his wheel.

Nettie ate very little in the weeks after they put Hedda into the ground. She spoke even less. It was not long before Rumplestiltskin found himself burying her beside Hedda.

Now alone in the cottage, he went back to what he did best, watching the wheel turn through blurry eyes.

Eventually, though, the Spring came. The sun shone down and children played in the village square, their laughter echoing through the streets. His heart healed, little by little. And he kept spinning.

It was Summer when he met her. His Aunts had been gone for nearly two years and Rumplestiltskin was a man, grown. His trade was still doing well enough that he decided to expand. He’d bought a small plot of land and a few sheep to tend on it. His Aunties had always spoke of keeping their own sheep but they’d never owned the land for it. As a child, a local herder had helped them teach him how to shear the wool, card it, and prepare it for spinning. He’d been a natural at that, as well. He felt they would be proud of him, of what he had accomplished.

Rumplestiltskin went to the travelling market, just outside of town. Travelling merchants from all over the kingdom set up tents and wagons as far as the eye could see. It was loud and crowded and hot. People jostled one another, bargaining loudly over wares of all kinds. Rumplestiltskin rarely went but he’d woven a particularly fine set of spools, beautifully dyed and ready for use. He wanted to see if he could fetch a better price than with the locals. He sometimes suspected the villagers took a wee bit of advantage, given his reputation for quick compromise. Unlike his Aunties, he’d never developed the knack for driving a hard bargain. Better to back down and keep the customer than to argue yourself out of what business you could get, he reasoned.

As it was, he sold the thread at a very good price, walking away with an unfamiliar jangle in his purse. High on the success and weight of so much coin, he decided to browse the market. And there he saw her. She was around his age, dark haired and lovely. She wore a blue dress that brought out her eyes and she smiled sweetly as he approached.

He gave a timid smile back, eyes casting shyly downward. “Hello,” he managed, at last.

“Hello yourself, Mister. Don’t suppose I can interest you in some sterling silver plates?”

He flushed, suddenly tongue-tied, and shook his head.

She made a slightly disappointed sound and lay the plate down on the covered table behind which she stood. “Do you drink tea?”

He looked up again at the seeming non sequitur and nodded his head.

He was rewarded with a grin, a flash of white teeth between pink lips. “Thought you might. It’s a very genteel thing to do and you look like a genteel sort of man.” Her voice dragged along the vowel sounds but from the accompanying smile, he took the statement as a compliment. He moved closer as the young woman reached below the table and produced another item. She held it out to him and he dragged his gaze away from her pretty smile to look at it.

His heart leapt in his chest. For there in her open palm sat a teacup.

***

Milah’s father, Barret, had a son and a daughter. His wife had died giving birth to the latter, so he’d done his best to raise two babes on his own. All while travelling the kingdom in his father’s wagon, selling bits and bobs along the way. Whatever would fetch a price. He’d inherited the business from his father and would pass it along to his son, one day. The question remained what to do with Milah.

She was a decent enough merchant, the fact she grew up pretty didn’t hurt. No life for an unmarried woman though, travelling from town to town, no proper hearth to tend. And she knew it. Didn’t agree with him, but knew it all the same. It was only right for a girl her age to find herself a husband. If he was another traveller, so be it. So long as she wasn’t sticking around her father’s wagon all her life, becoming a spinster and a burden.

A few men had courted her favor but Milah was a mule-headed sort. Wouldn’t take to any man who’d not bend to her will. She’d argue til the cows came home and then keep arguing with them just to prove she hadn’t lost. She had a nasty temper, when it flared, but a sweet side, as well.

It must have been the sweet side that sheep herder took a shine to.

The man came back every day they were in town, bringing wildflowers for Milah and stumbling shyly through conversation. Every day, he bought some useless trinket or other, pink-cheeked and promising to return. It wasn’t much, but Barret wasn’t one to turn down good coin of any kind. He encouraged his daughter to talk to the man. With a roll of her eyes, she agreed. She wasn’t stupid. A woman knew when she was being courted.

It came as no surprise when, at the end of the season, the sheep herder - Rumplestiltskin was his name, an odd name for an odd little fellow - asked Barret for Milah’s hand in marriage.

“Well?” he looked at his daughter as she weighed her options. “He’s got a farm and a purse that don’t seem empty. Spooked by his own shadow, so’s he’s not like to beat you.”

Milah’s mouth twisted and she sucked on her bottom lip. Of the young men who’d shown an interest, very few had ever been so polite. Most were only after a quick tumble - which she’d granted once or twice, much to her father’s dismay. Rumplestiltskin didn’t ever talk over her or try to lay an unwanted hand on her. He owned land and did some good business, from what she could see. For a girl with no real home and few real prospects, the man was a goldmine. Heaven sent. And perhaps she would grow to love him, over time.

If her life must lack the poetry of a blushing first kiss, words of love whispered in shimmering starlight, then so be it. She knew of young women who had done a lot worse than a man with steady income and a home to call his own. He looked well enough, with large dark eyes that reminded her of a puppy she’d once been forced to give up. Barret wouldn’t allow for another mouth to feed on the road. She knew she was almost as expendable as that puppy, the closer her father got to turning the business over to her brother.

“Yeah, alright.” She nodded. “You can tell him I said yes.”

It was a simple ceremony. Rumplestiltskin had few in the village would call him friend but there was a fiddler agreed to play for easy access to the ale and a few coins. They danced well into the night, falling into their marriage bed flushed and full of wine. Rumplestiltskin undressed Milah with trembling hands, his kisses barely feather-light. She hurried him along, the spirits making her eager, as they often had before. She pulled his tunic roughly over his head and stopped suddenly, frowning.

Rumplestiltskin cringed, afraid this lovely woman - the first to see him in such a state of undress since his Aunties - had already found fault with him. “What is it, my love?” he asked, clasping his hands to stop their shaking.

Her mouth twisted, eyes fixed on his chest. “What is that hideous spot?”

He looked down at the teacup-shaped mark, raising a hand to touch it. “This?” He blinked in confusion. “But… don’t you have a mark, too?”

Milah placed both hands on her hips, naked as the day she was born. “Do I look like I have an ugly mark on me, husband?”

“N-no,” he stuttered. His Aunties had never said if his soulmate would have a mark as well, he’d only presumed it. Silly of him. But he knew from fairy stories that the course of true love never did run smooth. And he truly loved the dark-haired woman who stood before him. He’d never felt for a woman what he felt for her. It must be true love. Therefore happiness would be theirs. He just had to keep her happy, therein he’d find his own. “Does it bother you?”

Milah gave a heavy sigh and shrugged. “I suppose I can get past it,” she said, in a tone that implied the opposite.

Rumplestilstkin scrambled for the tunic she had removed, pulling it back on hastily. “Is… is that better?”

The corners of Milah’s mouth tilted back up. “Yes. Thank you, Rumplestiltskin.”

Relieved, Rumplestiltskin hesitantly took her in his arms. “Anything for you, my love.”

Milah smirked and kissed him. The mark on his chest burned. He ignored it.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

****He had taken her straight from Gaston’s war room to a place called the Dark Castle. Not the most inventive as far as titles went, Belle secretly thought, but an apt description. The place was gloomy and covered in shadow. Just by right of having an uncovered window, her cell was brighter than half the halls Rumplestiltskin had dragged her through on the way to the dungeons. That did little to comfort the heartache of being away from her kingdom, her father, and her beloved people. But she had pledged to be their hero, to save their lives as her own mother had saved hers - through sacrifice.

Still, as she sunk into the cot tucked into one corner, she did not feel much like a hero at all. She felt very young and very lost. And she missed her mother more than words could say. An overwhelming wave of sadness hit her as she realized that whatever the mark on her chest had meant to Mother, she would never fulfill it, now. What great destiny could be found in a dungeon? Pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head upon them, she finally let herself weep, long and loud. Through her tears, she poured out the pent up grief at Collette’s sudden passing, the frustration of being offered only bad choices, and the sense of loss for her life as a princess - the only life she’d ever known outside of her books. Her chest heaved and her nose ran and she was simply the least royal or stately that she’d ever been. She didn’t care. Who was there to see her? The Dark One had taken off the day before and not come back. A tray of food had appeared for her supper, but she’d had no appetite and left it to sit.

She was more alone than she’d ever been in her life. She missed the friendly chatter of the maids by the fire, the soft warmth of Mother, reading at her side. To think how only a year had changed her so very much. The Belle who wept in the Dark One’s dungeons would not even recognize the pampered princess of her yesteryears. Belle’s past was gone and her future had been dealt away with only a few words. So short a time to make so long a promise. And yet, she knew, deep in her heart, she would do it again. Because it was the right thing. Because it was what a hero would do.

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

***

The crying was incessant and bothersome.

“This is why one does not deal for princesses,” Rumplestiltskin groused to himself, stopping the wheel with one hand to glare in the direction of the dungeons.

What on earth had he been thinking? Certainly, she made a lovely addition to his collection of unique and beautiful things, but it certainly wasn’t worth all the noise. He considered taking her voice away, but that seemed a little too… fishy.

When he’d gone to the castle to make a deal, he hadn’t known exactly what he wanted. He rarely did; it usually came to him in the moment. Something special. Something precious. Those things were worth more than all the gold he could spin in a lifetime.

The King’s only daughter, a young woman full of spirit and fire, with flashing blue eyes and just a touch of mischief to the curve of her full, ripe mouth. Braver than any man in that room and with a mind worth ten of them each, at least. She’d been nearly irresistible in that moment. Something inside him had told him that she was the only deal worth making. After 300 years, a man learns to listen to his gut. If it was his gut that had spoken. Unlike that oafish looking fiance of hers, Rumplestiltskin liked to think he’d moved beyond the baser demands of his anatomy. He ate only when he chose to. He rarely slept, just spent his nights spinning. And he never… well, it was rare that he indulged in any other physical desires.

The princess was just another bauble, comely in the flush of youth, but nothing more than a prize he’d acquired like all the rest. Albeit a noisy one.

His upper lip curled as the girl released another pitiful wail. He pitched to his feet and head toward the commotion.

The Dark One burst unexpectedly into her cell and Belle found she was only able to stare incredulously as he made her heroic sacrifice sound petty and self serving.

Temper flaring, she informed the Beast of how exactly wrong he was. She wondered if he had expected her to cower and back down. She supposed very few people talked back to the Dark One. He’d looked almost… troubled for a moment before producing a pillow out of a puff of smoke.

“For me?” she’d asked, feeling even more disjointed by the unexpected gift.

“Not quite so beastly now, am I?” Rumplestilstkin retorted, tossing the pillow at her in a manner that did nothing to prove his point.

The pillow did actually help her to fall asleep, though the Dark One had insisted it was only to muffle her crying.

Belle woke the next morninggroggy and disoriented, with an unblinking Dark One standing over her. Releasing a slight shriek, She sat up quickly, back to the wall, clutching the blanket to her chest.

“Oh good,” Rumplestiltskin drawled, “you’re up.”

She blinked up at him, uncertain what else to say.

His hands twitched, restlessly, eyes darting away and back. “If you’d slept any longer I’d worry I dealt for the wrong princess.” He gave a high pitched giggle as though what he’d said was remarkably funny but Belle didn’t see the humor.

“So, you _were_ in the market for a princess?” her brow furrowed.

“I told you. I need a caretaker,” he extended a hand toward her. She eyed it suspiciously and he rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly. “Go on, take it. I won’t bite you.”

It occurred to Belle that she’d heard old Nanna Dulcet make a similar jest with the shyer scullery maids and, despite herself, she almost smiled. She took the proffered hand (warmer than she’d expected, dry and callused but not as rough as it looked) and Rumplestiltskin pulled her to her feet.

That day he gave her instructions on her role in his large estate - and it would prove to be vast, indeed. She got lost more than once in the days that followed. She had a sneaking suspicion that parts of the castle moved of their own volition, but she could never quite prove it. After the first day, Rumplestiltskin did not come to wake her up, but she rose roughly the same time, every morning, finding the dungeon door unlocked. She began the day by making tea for herself an a tray for Rumplestiltskin. Then, he’d give her a set of instructions for what needed cleaning or sewing or tending. In the evenings, she would be sent back to her cell, the lock clicking in place. The first few nights, she still wept into the pillow he’d provided. Soon enough, though, her tears had dried. She still missed her home, but it felt farther way, more abstract. There was an odd sense of comfort to the routine of her life, day in and day out. And the castle had its curiosities to distract her. Every now and then, she could coax a story out of Rumplestiltskin over how he’d acquired one odd artifact or another.

Rumplestiltskin, himself, was not what she’d expected. She had learned long ago ago not to judge a book by it’s cover, but the Dark One was known far and wide for his sinister dealings and silver tongued malice. She’d anticipated cruelty, insults, and a far rougher treatment at his hands. Instead, he merely teased her from afar, seeming to take a strange delight in making her jump or drop whatever she was holding in shock. Little wonder he had not been vexed over the cup she broke on her first day. She’d have broken half a dozen things by a few weeks in, if he hadn’t begun anticipating faster and catching them as they fell.

At some point, Belle stopped hearing the door lock at night. At another point, an additional blanket appeared on her cot, much softer than the roughspun one she’d been using.

It was only after the Robin Hood incident that Belle stopped sleeping in the dungeons entirely. Rumplestiltskin made such a show of throwing his blood-spattered apron at her, screeching about skinning Robin Hood alive. A part of her almost believed him. But then he’d managed to “miss” his shot with the magic bow, sparing the life of Hood and his family. Belle had known then that she was right not to fear him. As though to prove it, the Dark One had then given her a library.

A library that happened to contain a very comfortable chaise lounge. More than once, she had fallen asleep there and woke to find herself covered by a blanket that had not been there before. When confronted, Rumplestiltskin denied knowing anything about it, mumbling something about magic blankets. She did not believe him for a moment. 

It was only a matter of time before she found a small wardrobe had appeared in one corner of her library. A vanity table joined it soon after, though it had no mirror. In all her time at the Dark Castle, Belle had yet to spot a mirror that wasn’t covered. She wondered if the Dark One so loathed his own reflection or if, perhaps, he was in a state of mourning.

She’d seen small clothes, the size of a child, in one of the castle’s many rooms. One day she’d gathered her courage to inquire about them. It seemed so strange to think of the Dark One as a father, yet there was something almost tender about him in his most unguarded moments. When pressed, he’d only say that his boy had been lost. He sent her from the room after that and was in something of a temper for the rest of the day. Belle was stunned into holding her curious tongue, for once.

She’d been living at the castle a few months when Rumplestiltskin first invited her to take tea with him. He had grown softer with her now, less shrill, less aggressive. His manner was gentler when speaking with her. Belle had responded in kind, lingering longer in his company and growing bolder in her questions. Come evening, it was not unusual for her to find herself sitting by the fire, reading her books aloud as Rumplestiltskin spun straw into gold.

The spinning wheel had caught her eye on her first day at the Castle, but she’d only seen it in use recently. At first when he’d mentioned spinning, she’d had been terribly amused at the thought of the most powerful wizard in all the land dancing in circles. She’d been only slightly disappointed to see him at the wheel as it whirled round and round. At least that explained how he made his own gold. Well, to a point, it did. The magic involved was still quite the mystery. Rumplestiltskin would not let her near his magical artifacts but keeping the spinning wheel clean was among her duties. So, she knew the magic must not come from the wheel, itself.

When not in motion, Belle could not deny that the shape of it was entirely too familiar. But the circle upon her chest could have been any kind of wheel, she reasoned. This particular wheel was little different from the ones on Rumplestiltskin’s carriage or any other of its ilk.

Oddly enough, though, there were times that Belle found herself dreaming about the wheel on her chest turning and turning, maneuvered by restless hands covered in scales that glinted green-gold in the dim light. Once the thought had entered her head, it would not go away. She found herself staring at Rumplestiltskin’s lithe and busy fingers, picturing them against the mark on her pale flesh. It shocked her the first time and embarrassed her the second. Her soulmark was in a rather… intimate place. To imagine a man’s hands there - even one who claimed to no longer be a man - was nothing short of scandalous.

And yet… the thought of it grew on her, making her cheeks flush and breath come short, as she imagined him touching her in such a place. Her mind grew bolder, curious as to how his skin might feel against her breasts, caressing the soft skin of her belly or thighs… even slipping between the latter to explore the secret places only she had ever touched.

She’d been distracted enough by those hands that she’d managed to slip from the very tall ladder. And ended up in the very arms she’d been trying not to think about. She was struck nearly speechless as he held her aloft with a deceptive strength. He was strangely compelling in the soft light of day, his golden eyes wide and round, face slack with surprise. When he turned to look at her, heat pooled in her belly and she fought to keep her breath. She had a fleeting thought of closing the brief distance between them and pressing her lips to his. It was foolish but her heart thumped within her chest. She’d nearly leaned in when Rumplestiltskin seemed to remember he was still holding her like a babe and returned her to her feet. Cheeks burning, she thanked him for the rescue and offered to put the stubborn drapery back in its place. He declined but wandered off, no longer meeting her eyes.

She did not see him again for the rest of the day.

That night, she decided to take a bath to relax her tired mind and body. As she undressed, she just happened glimpse down. She gasped. The wheel that sat between her breasts had changed. Now, there was the unmistakable shape of arm extending from it, holding what looked very much like a spindle.

 


	4. Chapter 4

****Rumplestiltskin was in agony. It was an agony of his own making, of course. What else could it be? And he must be enjoying it in some way because it was well within his power to end it. He wouldn’t even have to break the deal, he could simply lock the girl away for the rest of her natural life. Humans didn’t live all that long. He could wait it out, spell the room to keep the sound of her cries and pleas from reaching his ears. Harden his black little heart to the tears she would inevitably shed. Maybe throw a few books and a bed in there to keep her comfortable. Oh, and she’d need food, of course. Perhaps a window for some sunlight. Belle seemed quite fond of the sun - an unfortunate quality in his corner of the world.

Rumplestiltskin huffed and scrubbed at his face with the heels of both palms. What was he even bloody thinking? He wasn’t about to lock the girl away. Most days, her face was the only thing worth seeing in the entirety of the Dark Castle. A million precious treasures and she was the only one with any value to him.

He’d have flayed the so-named Queens of Darkness alive if anything had harmed his Belle. The revenge he had already taken was barely satisfying. They had frightened the poor princess. Only he, the Dark One, got to do that and remain unscathed. Not that Belle frightened easy. No no no, foolhardy as she was soft-hearted, that one. He found this one of her many irritatingly endearing qualities. Staring him down with those flashing sapphire eyes, her apple cheeks flushed and petal pink lips parted. She gave back nearly as good as she got, once she’d figured out his sense of humor.

Realizing intimidation was a lost cause, he’d tried to put her in her place, remind her that her station had fallen so far, servant to the Dark One. Belle merely laughed off his taunting, flipping a cleaning rag at him and swinging her hips as she walked away. And what lovely hips they were.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It would not do to think of such things. He was not a man, not anymore. No matter what certain, more primal, parts of his brain tried to tell him (usually whenever Belle was bending over and the neck of her chemise dipped ever so invitingly…) he was done with carnal desire. It had only ever brought him trouble and heartache.

And yet, when he’d caught her falling from the ladder and held her in his arms, he’d felt something unlike anything else he’d ever felt before. Longing in his body, yes, but suffused with such tenderness, a kind of warmth that both ignited and assuaged. The sensation had rippled through his whole being, from scaly skin to the very depth of his soul - if Dark Ones could be said to have a soul. Shaken to his core, he’d held her closer than he ought, for far longer than he should. Her body so soft and fragile, her breath warm and sweet against his face as she turned to look at him. She’d looked nearly as stunned as he’d felt, though probably just startled that the monster would bother to save her.

Then he’d run from her, afraid of acting on the mad impulse that had taken hold within his mind. What would his little maid have thought if he had kissed her?

Probably would have run back to her library to hide. Perhaps even been frightened enough to try and break their deal, run off into the forest. Though he doubted she’d endanger her people so. No, she’d even face the advances of a monster for their sake. Brave, beautiful Belle. Brave and foolish and dangerously close at nearly all times. Yet never close enough.

Since the day at the window, his dreams had been haunted by her smooth pale skin and the fragrant floral air that seemed to linger in her wake. Those eyes. Those eyes that could bring a man to his knees.

Not that the Dark One was a man.

Rumplestiltskin scowled down at the table in front of him. The lady in question would arrive shortly to bring him tea. He’d invite her to sit with him, as he always did, and hold his breath until she accepted.

***

Belle was slowly coming to terms with the changes to her soulmark and the things she could no longer deny. She’d felt it, when Rumplestiltskin caught her- an unfolding, as though fate had turned the page. The change in her soulmark was nearly an afterthought, proof that her burgeoning attraction to Rumplestiltskin was more than mere propinquity. More than familiarity or loneliness. She was falling in love. With the Dark One. A man who still, for all intents and purposes, held her captive. A man who tended to her needs attentively and with thorough care. A man who had once locked her in a dungeon. Then given her a silk pillow. A man who had traded a personal treasure for her safe return and saved her from plummeting to her death.

He confused, frustrated, and fascinated her in turns nearly every day. She longed to be closer to him, to really know him in every way one could know a person, including the ones that made her blush to think on them. Some days, she felt him opening up to her, unfurling his protective layers bit by bit. His prancing, giggling facade would drop, leaving behind a much gentler countenance. He did not shy away from her physical affections as he once had, though he never initiated touch. He let her hug him when she was feeling joyful, lay her hand over his as they shared a particularly affable moment.

But Belle wanted more. So much more than this polite interaction. She wanted to feel him take her fully in his arms, press his lips to hers, caress her skin. Undress her. Bear her to his bed.

Belle buried her flushed face in both hands. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the ache between her legs, the pull of longing she felt when they were close. Worse still was the way his eyes would linger on her, an obvious question unformed on his lips. He felt something, too, that much was clear. She just wasn’t sure what. Perhaps he had a mark, as well? She had never seen him in less than his shirtsleeves and leather trousers. Leather trousers tailored so close that they made imagining him without them far easier than it should have been, really.

She had wondered more than once if he dressed himself with magic. And how difficult he might be to undress by hand…

The tea kettle whistled and Belle jumped. With a swear she’d never have admitted to knowing, she pulled the kettle from the fire with a muslin-wrapped hand. The tea brewing in the pot, she carried the tray out to where Rumplestiltskin was waiting at the table in the great hall.

Rumplestiltskin looked up from the table, a contemplative look across his features. Belle was flushed and dewy with the heat of the kitchen as she approached. It was most becoming. He imagined how she might look emerging from her bath, rosy and pink, droplets of water gliding across her smooth skin. He swallowed hard and looked away, mindful of his body’s very visceral enjoyment of the mental image he’d painted.

Completely unwitting of his secret suffering, Belle placed a cup, saucer, and biscuit before him. She stood back, hands folded in front of her. It was a farcical little dance to which they both knew the steps. She’d pretend to be the dutiful servant, awaiting her next order. He’d pretend that the other cup of tea on the tray was incidental and eventually offer it to her, as though the idea had only just occurred to him.

As she stood, it occurred to Belle that, in her daydreaming, she had managed to forget breakfast. Rumplestiltskin rarely ate meals, though he enjoyed biscuits with his tea. She eyed the remaining biscuits, her mouth watering. Her stomach gave a little growl and she clamped a hand over it.

“Would you, perhaps, like something more than tea, today?” She asked, impulsively.

His eyes snapped to her. “What?”

Belle pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Nothing. I was just… Some fresh bread arrived from the village, I could make us - you - a small platter? Some fruit and cheese as well?”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward at her slip of the tongue. “Is my little maid hungry? Don’t play roundabout with me, girl. It won’t work. I keep the larder stocked. If you’ve an empty belly, I’m certainly not to blame.” He bit back a grin when Belle’s cheeks reddened. “Go on then, make your platter before the tea gets cold.”

Belle nodded, smiling and hurried off to comply. She returned quickly with another small tray of fresh fruit, soft cheeses, and half a loaf of bread. The other chair was usually at the far end of the table, but it had mysteriously moved closer to his in her absence. Belle knew an invitation when she saw it. She plopped herself down and poured her tea. They ate in a companionable silence for a while when something struck her as funny. She swallowed a little giggle, but Rumplestiltskin caught the sound.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Did I do something amusing? Usually I keep better track…”

Belle dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “No, no. I just realized… we’ve never eaten together before.”

He blinked rapidly at her. “And?”

“Well, just that in some cultures, breaking bread together means friendship. Companionship,” she elaborated, gesturing between them with one hand.

Rumplestiltskin fought the urge to frown. He was highly uncomfortable with the subject of friendship to begin with.To be so openly mocked cut deeper than it should have. He felt his expression turn sour. “And that is… amusing to you.”

Belle’s eyes flew wide, feeling him withdraw. “No! Not that… it’s just that we… I’d been here so long but we’d never… that is…” Her hand came to rest on his forearm. “Rumplestiltskin, you are the only friend I have in the world, now. Please do not think me ungrateful for that.”

Her eyes were clear and honest, beseeching him to believe her. He did. And it hit him like a stone to the gut. In pulling Belle away into his dark world, he’d damned her to having only him for company. How lonely and disappointing her days must be.

“Rumple?” Belle tightened her grip on his arm, leaning forward. She hated this feeling. The way he could be so close and yet a million miles away.

He took a deep breath. “You had a family once, Belle. Friends who were not monsters. A fiance, even. What made you choose to come here? With me?”

Taken aback, Belle contemplated the question. When she answered, she did so carefully, speaking of her desire for heroism but not its root in the mark on her chest. Perhaps it was habit, or self preservation. She longed to know if he bore a match to her mark yet she dared not tell him directly.

“I did want to see the world,” she finished, averting her gaze as though he might read her thoughts. “That part didn’t really work out.”

He asked of her betrothed and she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the memory of cold-hearted Gaston. Rumplestiltskin watched her intently, hanging on her every word. The attention he paid her was so different from any man she’d ever known. It was never the false flattery of a royal courtship, simpering smiles and fawning. Belle felt truly heard for the first time in her life when she spoke to the Dark One. As he listened, she waxed poetic about love and romance, enjoying the heat of his gaze, the way the light caught the amber of his eyes.

Rumplestiltskin’s throat worked, his heart hammering in his chest. She was so very lovely, not naive but idealistic. Somehow his cruelty and her captivity had never once broken her spirit. In that moment, he longed to be the man who could bring such a happy, far away look to her face. He wanted to be the mystery she wished to uncover. He closed his eyes, coming to a decision. She must go. She must leave today and never return. She was temptation made flesh and he could no longer bear it. He opened his mouth to release her when she spoke again.

“But what of you, Rumplestiltskin? You had a family once, did you not?” Belle rested her chin in one hand, still watching the play of light and shadow across his face. There was something almost beautiful in the set of his jaw, those wide unnatural eyes, his crooked nose. It was a face she very much liked to look upon.

He swallowed hard, Bae’s face in his mind distracting him from his previous thought. “Yes. I did, once.”

She stroked his hand thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again. “You were a man once. An ordinary man.” With a sympathetic look, she leaned closer. “What happened to them?”

He shook his head, coming to his feet and turning away, unable to keep meeting those beguiling eyes. Her touch still burned along his flesh. He walked toward the window, resting both hands on the sill and taking deep breaths. “Why would you ask that?”

Belle rose as well, cautiously approaching and laying a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you…I just.. If I’m never to know another person in my life, can’t I at least know you?”

He paused, turning to look at her. “Perhaps… “ He raised a finger, pointing it accusingly, “Perhaps you just want to know the monster’s weaknesses, hmm?”

Belle shook her head, a soft smile playing around her mouth. “You’re not a monster, Rumplestiltskin. You think you’re uglier than you are. That’s why you cover all the mirrors.” He had no idea how she saw him… She wished she could show him. Inspiration struck and she turned, grabbing at the fabric covering the standing mirror.

In a flash, Rumplestiltskin was behind her, throwing it back into place. “Don’t.”

She froze, feeling the solidity of his chest against her back, his hips pressed to hers. Taking a shaky breath, she turned her head just enough to eye him peripherally. “I only wanted to show you that you’re not…” a sharp intake of breath as his hands found her waist and shaped it lightly through the fabric of her dress, “a monster.”

This close, her scent was almost unbearably sweet. Rumplestiltskin inhaled deeply, his nose to her soft curls. He wanted to bury himself in her.  

“Is that so? That family you ask of… they might have disagreed with you.” 

To his shock and delight, Belle seemed to lean back against him, her upper teeth worrying at her lower lip. He ducked his head to nose along the length of her neck, breathing her in deep. His stomach tightened, breeches stirring once more with reawakened want.

Belle was trembling but it was not for a moment out of fear. Rumplestiltskin held her to him, his grasp light enough to escape but firm enough to keep her close. She wanted to turn in his arms and capture his mouth. She wanted to hitch up her skirt and guide his hands beneath it. The muscles in her thighs shook, heat pooling between them. Her eyes slid nearly closed. “What happened to them, Rumple? Is it why you’re so lonely, now?”

Against the shell of her ear, Rumple exhaled “what happened is… I’m a difficult man to love.”

Belle whimpered slightly, her hips rocking involuntarily back into his, feeling the growing bulge there against her backside. “I don’t believe that…”

Rumplestiltskin sucked in a breath, his cock pulsing within its leather confines. Belle was arching against him like a cat in heat, applying pressure where he needed it most. His fingers splayed against her sides, the tips digging in. For the life of him he couldn’t have remembered how they got here, his blood rising and hot, racing in his veins. He was a hair’s breadth from losing all control, from throwing Belle down onto the table behind them and forgetting himself between her slack thighs. It was madness. She didn’t deserve this, to be taken by a beast, rutted like a wild animal. No matter how welcome she made his advances appear.

“Rumple,” she murmured, twisting to face him.

“No,” he choked on the single word. This has to end before the poor girl could delude herself further. With a strength he hadn’t known he possessed, he stumbled away, releasing her waist. “No,” he growled, turning on one heel and striding away as fast as his feet could carry him.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Rumplestiltskin was breathing hard, braced on his forearms over a small table in his tower laboratory. There were glowing vials and open books filled with archaic languages scattered all around him but his eyes were too glazed to focus on any one thing. It was all too much. Far more overwhelming that he could ever have anticipated. This wasn’t simple lust, it had to be a spell or a potion - something she’d slipped into his tea. Or perhaps Belle was as innocent as he in the matter and they’d both been duped by her Great Whiny Evilness, his former pupil. Making him desire his maid almost uncontrollably seemed like something Regina might try.

At last, he brought his attention to the books, scanning the pages at a superhuman speed to find one that might be of use. Love spells shouldn’t work on the Dark One. He was impervious to most curses and the castle was well warded against any magic but his own. Potion, then. It had to be.

He flipped through a few more pages, throwing down each book in turn as they all yielded nothing useful. Fine. He’d invent his own bloody antidote! He’d helped Snow White to harden her heart against the Charming peasant-prince. No reason it shouldn’t be alterable to serve his purposes, as well. There’d be a price, of course, but he’d figure that out in due course. The immediate concern was Belle. Keeping her safe from him. And him safe from her.

With a nearly feral sound, he flew to his stores of ingredients, plucking out containers almost at random.

“Rumplestiltskin!” Belle’s voice rang out across the room.

His busy hands fumbled and a bottle of mermaid tears with a too-loose stopper spilled down his front. He swore, dropping the bottle so that it smashed at his feet. So intent on fixing this problem, he’d forgotten to lock the door. Stupid Dark One! The tears itched on his skin and he tore at the silken fabric of his shirt to halt the sensation. As the silk came away in his hand, he rubbed at his chest, glancing down to assess the damage. And then his heart stopped.

Or at least, it certainly felt that way.

There, at the rim of that dreaded mark shaped like a tea cup, was a very noticeable chip. It was in the exact location of the one Belle had dropped on her first day at the Dark Castle. The cup he’d grown oddly fond of and drank from nearly every afternoon. His jaw clenched, lower lip trembling as he touched the changed mark. How long had it been there?

He felt a hand alight on his shoulder and whirled to face Belle, her cheeks pink from the exertion of climbing all those stairs. She was looking at him with a mixture of concern, anger, and something else much more familiar than it ought to be. Almost a kind of protective possessiveness. He opened his mouth but no sound escaped, his hands raising to push her away. Her eyes flicked to his chest and she gasped aloud.

His face burned and he scrabbled at the sides of his shirt to hide the ugly mark. Even if it did mean what he’d so long ago convinced himself was impossible. Even if the now-chipped cup was an indication of his soulmate. It was hideous. Perhaps even moreso than the rest of him. Milah had found him impossible to look upon bare-chested. Cora had never even seen him fully unclothed.

He tried to hide the mark from her but Belle caught it distinctly. Her hand flew to her mouth, happy tears springing to her eyes.

“Oh, Rumple,” she breathed, her heart pounding fit to escape it’s bony cage.

“It’s nothing,” he grit out from between clenched teeth, securing the shirt sides with a flicker of magic. He’d pay some small price later. He could feel her eyes still on him but he could not bring himself to meet them.

“It’s not nothing,” she insisted, extending a hand toward him.

Rumplestiltskin backed away, hitting the shelves behind him and rattling several other vials. He needed to go. To be as far from Belle as possible, before his shame could be made plainer. He raised a hand to spell himself far, far away from Belle, with her tempting hips and searching eyes.

“It’s my chipped cup, isn’t it?” Belle asked, her voice sounding far steadier than she felt. “Your soulmark. It’s my cup.”

Hand still midair, magic tingling at his fingertips, Rumplestiltskin hesitated. “How… how did you know it was a” his lip curled, the word still sour in his mouth, “soulmark? Read that in one of your books did you?”

Belle shook her head. “How could I not know? I felt it the moment I saw it.”

He lowered his hand, the magic retreating within. “Felt it?” He’d done some reading on the subject, himself, bent on discovering how to rid one’s body of the wretched thing. Not one text mentioned the ability of any creature to feel another’s mark unless… His eyes went wide, belly clenching and twisting.

The corners of Belle’s mouth lifted in a soft, almost shy smile. Her hands came to her bodice and began pulling at the laces. Her eyes never left his.

Rumplestiltskin felt his throat constrict and release, mouth going dry. The sides of her garment fell apart, revealing the white, nearly sheer chemise beneath. She hooked two fingers in the top of that and pulled it slowly down. The fabric gave way to the delicious sight of her breasts, nipples just barely covered. Yet with one of the things he’d longed most to see (spent many a night dreaming of, in fact) he could barely notice them now. For nestled between those two perfect curves of flesh was a dark mark in the shape of a wheel.

A spinning wheel, to be exact.

The shape was unmistakable; he’d have known it anywhere. A spinning wheel was Belle’s soulmark. And he knew, could feel it in his ancient bones and his blackened heart, that it was meant for him. Just as she’d felt his mark upon sight. A part of him fancied that this must be a dream, though he knew it to be entirely too real. He fought the urge to pinch himself, anyway. His whole body went rigid, a million thoughts colliding within his mind. Doubt, fear, astonishment, and the most terrifying one of all: hope.  

The entire world narrowed to Belle and the mark upon her pale skin. Slowly, she closed the space between them and his eyes returned to hers. They were round and liquid, shining in the low light.

“Rumple…” she said again, her voice almost inaudible but he could feel her breath against his face. She released her chemise to bring her hands to his chest. Too stunned to move, he let her pull apart the fabric he’d magically mended.

Instinct kicked in and his hands flew up to stop hers. “It’s… it’s not…. A pretty sight,” he finished lamely.

She tilted her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

He pressed his lips together, expression pained. “It’s hideous.”

Belle’s brow furrowed. “Is mine hideous?”

“No! Of course not! Yours is…” he searched for words, hands contracting and loosening around hers, “perfect. But it’s on you, so I would expect nothing else.”

Belle flushed at the compliment and tugged her hands free, shaking her head. “Then yours is, as well. Because it’s a match to mine.” She batted his hands away from his collar and tugged back the fabric.

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, unable to watch her face fall in her inevitable disappointment. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, braced for the worst. A little breathy sound escaped her and he felt one fingertip trace the shape of his ugly mark. Then, a different sensation altogether as her lips brushed the scaled skin of his chest. He jumped, eyes flying back open.

Belle was looking at him in a kind of awe. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispered.

A rush of joy flooded through him, like nothing he’d ever felt before. Sudden and pure and perfect happiness. Giddy on this unexpected euphoria, he felt himself reach for Belle, his hands framing her face. There were tears on her cheeks and Rumple swiped at them with both thumbs, kissing the salt away gently. She threw both arms around his neck, peppering his face with little kisses.

“I knew it. Oh Rumple, I knew that you loved me” she said as she clung to him, her hands burying themselves in his hair. She stroked the silky strands between her fingers as his arms wound around her slim waist, holding her close.

He touched his forehead to hers, incapable of yet forming the words on his lips. When his mouth did open, it was only to murmur her name over and over, like a prayer.

Belle, always the brave one, breached the final distance and touched her lips to his.

The effect was instant. Rumplestiltskin felt his Dark Curse roar to life, an open flame in his mind and in his gut. His head reared back, mouth still burning with her kiss. “No! No no no.” The stench of his own fear make his nostrils flare. All this time. True Love at his fingertips. And he was still a coward. He needed his Curse. He needed his power. It was the only weapon he had and the only way to find Bae.

“Rumple!”

A million thoughts ran through her at once as Belle watched her soulmate pull away from her touch. All her life she’d longed to kiss the lips of the one who bore her mark and yet he’d acted as though her kiss was poison. No words could contain her frustration and disappointment.. She wanted to be angry, to storm off and call him all manner of unpleasant names. She very nearly did, but for the deep sadness in his eyes.

“Rumple tell me. Now. What is it?”

He stared at her, heart racing. She was his soulmate and therefore his equal in every way. Though to his mind, she far surpassed him in always every way that mattered. Would she understand the path he had set? The things he must do? Her heart was so good and his was so foul. How could they possibly beat as one? Was Fate so strange and twisted?

“My Curse,” he rasped, at last. “I cannot break it. Not if I wish to find him.”

“Who?” Almost as the word left her mouth, the answer dawned upon her. “Your son… “

The look on his face was confirmation enough.

“You told me once that you’d lost him” she continued, thinking out loud as she went. “At the time, I assumed you meant… But he really is lost, isn’t he? Somewhere you can’t find him without….”

“Without magic.” He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the floor between them. “Yes.”

“And kissing me will make you lose your magic?”

He nodded, sagging against the shelves behind him. Belle crossed her arms protectively over her chest, her face thoughtful. He tried not to notice the way this also served to push her breasts up and toward him. It was a most unfortunate time to remember the way they’d been pressed against him only moments ago. He longed to kiss their round, lightly freckled tops. To bury his face between them and let her hold him to her. He wondered if she would let him suckle their buds and nibble the sensitive undersides. It was the least opportune moment he could have chosen to find his passion reignited. But with Belle, it was nearly impossible to hold back such thoughts. Especially not that he knew she was his soulmate. Ridiculous and archaic though the notion may be, there was no denying the pull of magic. True Love’s Kiss was the only thing that could break his Curse.

Belle nudged at the carpet with one toe, thinking of her books. In story after story, True Love saved the day. And what else could a Soulmate be, but True Love in its plainest, most ancient form?

“Is it only a kiss on the lips?” she asked, idly.

Rumple blinked at her. “I… I don’t know.”

She tilted her head to one side and studied him. “When I kissed your mark, earlier, did you feel it then, too?”

He shook his head. No, he’d only felt surprise. And joy. And that growingly familiar flicker of want.

Belle licked her lips, a slightly predatory glint in her eye as she approached him. He sucked in a breath, belly tensing pleasantly as she came to rest on hand lightly on his hip.  

“So if I were to kiss you here,” she brushed her lips to the hollow of his neck, “is there any danger?” Her breath was hot against his skin and his hands found themselves skimming her shoulders and upper arms, fighting the urge to pull her in closer. “How about here?” She nosed along the ridge of his clavicle, kissing it firmly then moving to the other, her lips slightly open and the tip of her tongue trailing against his skin. “Or here?”

His cock was hardening again quickly, mind clouding over with desire. Each time her lips pressed, he had to remind himself to respond. The Dark Curse stayed silent under his skin as Belle’s lips made a path up his neck and down his jaw. He groaned aloud as her teeth sank into the place his neck met his shoulder. Desperately needing to return the favor, he grasped her waist firmly and spun them, lifting her onto the table beside them. Her legs parted instantly and she drew him between them. He sent a flicker of magic toward the table, making it softer underneath her.

Belle felt utterly wanton, so far from the delicate princess who’d left behind her father’s palace. Her entire body was aflame, skin tingling from head to toe, as Rumplestiltskin nipped and licked his way from her neck to her breasts. She heard the fabric of her chemise tear and bit back a gasp as his hot mouth enclosed one nipple. The sensation shot through her, all the way down to her core, where she was growing wet and needy. She rolled her hips against his, instinct driving her toward that part of him that pressed against her, hot and hard. His mouth switched to her other breast, lathing and teasing the tight pink bud. She whimpered and gripped at his hair, arching her back to present herself to him. How long had she wanted this? How long had she dreamt of Rumplestilskin between her thighs, his hands and mouth upon her body?

No Curse could stand between them.

“Please… I want… “ she moaned, unable to articulate the hunger inside her, the way her center clenched with need.

With a growl Rumplestiltskin hitched up her skirts, falling to his knees. He growled again as he saw how she’d soaked through the cotton of her undergarments. Pulling her hips to the edge of the table, he rid her of them, tossing them aside, carelessly. She smelled divine, lush and sweet and musky. His mouth watered and he kissed her inner thigh. She made a soft sound and he peered up at her flushed face.

She bit her lip, eyes dark and half lidded. “What are you…?”

“There are plenty of other places to kiss you, my sweet Belle,” he breathed. “May I?” He’d learned this act far too late in life to make much use of it, but the little practice he’d been allowed had left him wanting more.

Confused, Belle simply nodded. Between the talk of her maids and the books she’d found on the subject, there had been only a few hidden references to a kiss in such places, but her body craved contact of any kind. His breath across her nether lips nearly made her jump and the slide of his tongue across her slick flesh made her clamp her thighs around his head. She muttered an apology but she could have sworn she heard Rumplestiltskin chuckle. One of his hands gripped her hip firmly as the other stroked the juncture of her thigh, easing her back open until her legs fell apart.

She was delightfully sensitive and Rumplestiltskin smiled against one pliant thigh. With soft kisses, he worked his way back to her sex, running the tip of his tongue the length of her slit, her flavor ripe and delicious. He explored her with flicks and laps, finding the places that made her moan and buck her hips. When he suckled that little nub at the apex, Belle whimpered and shunted her hips. Her hands grasped at his hair, mindless and greedy. He repeated the action and she broke with an inarticulate cry, her juices dripping down his chin and onto the table.

Belle fell back onto the table, every limb gone weak and watery. Nothing she’d ever been able to elicit with her own fingers could hold a candle to what her soulmate had just done. He’d wrung music from her body. She panted heavily as Rumplestiltskin came to his feet.

He stood over her prone form, a smile on his glistening lips. His eyes were hooded, the amber turned nearly black. “My Belle…” he murmured.

Belle sat back up, her eyes locked on the prominent bulge at the front of his trousers. When her hands came to the laces, he stilled them.

“You don’t need to…”

She cupped him through the leather and he throbbed against her palm. His eyes fell shut, throat working inaudibly. Her lips found purchase at just the corner of his mouth, tasting herself on his skin. “I want you, Rumplestiltskin. I want to feel the other half of my soul inside me…”

With a noise that was almost pained, Rumplestiltskin tore at his own laces, freeing his cock so it bobbed between them. Belle’s breath came short as she saw it, at last, hard and straining toward her, moisture beading at the flushed tip. Tentatively, she wrapped her fingers around the shaft and gave a short little stroke. Rumplestiltskin groaned slightly. He was so hot and heavy in her hand, achingly aroused.

Holding his gaze, Belle brought him to her entrance, the blunt head nudging her little nub and sending a shiver of pleasure through her. Rumple’s mouth went slack, his hand covering hers as he began to sink into her wet heat. Slowly, oh so slowly, he slid inside her. Belle’s eyes widened at the feeling of fullness, her inner muscles fluttering around the sizable intrusion.

Rumplestiltskin’s buttocks clenched, his teeth grinding with the effort of staying still while Belle became accustomed to the feel of him. She was molten velvet, gripping him so tightly he thought he might lose his mind. Every instinct in his body was longing to snap his hips, pound her into the table, but he kept himself in check. After what felt like an eternity, he was fully sheathed. He lay Belle back out on the table, leaning over her to kiss along her neck and jaw. Belle began to squirm beneath him, making little breathless noises. Her pelvis ground against his and he eased out just enough to slide back home. Her body welcomed him back in eagerly and it was all he could do not to spill himself immediately.

Belle moaned, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, her hands grasping at his silken shirt. There had been far less pain than she’d expected, given the stories she’d been told. It ached as she stretched around him, but the pain was very nearly pleasure as Rumplestiltskin rocked gently against her. He pulled back, almost his full length withdrawing before plunging back in.

“Yes,” she hissed into his hair, rolling her hips against his, encouraging him to move faster, harder, deeper within her.

He took the invitation and quickened his pace, breath laboured as he scattered kisses on every part of her skin he could reach. He could feel her getting close, once more, her thighs shaking and cries getting louder. His balls tightened, begging for release. Snaking a hand between them, he rubbed at the bud that had sent her over the edge before and her sex clamped down hard, milking his cock. Driving his hips like a madman, he chased his own climax to the tune of Belle’s beautiful moans. Her nails against his back, thighs like a vice. His belly tensed and everything went white hot with perfect bliss. Blindly, unthinkingly, he sought her mouth, capturing her lips. She returned the kiss with fervor, her tongue swiping at the seam of his lips before they both remembered what it meant.

The very air around them seemed to glow with magic, but not of the kind Rumplestiltskin was used to. This was ancient and completely untainted by Darkness. It rippled across their skin and crashed over them like a wave, shaking them both to the core. They pulled apart gasping.

Rumplestiltskin stumbled back, withdrawing from her reluctantly and softening against his own thigh. He pulled his trousers back up, absentmindedly relacing them. Belle propped herself on her elbows and they looked at one another in shock. Cautiously, he reached for his magic. It was there, same as always, curling through him and taunting him with dark promises. The Curse was still in place.

Belle slid off of the table on wobbly legs. “Did we…? You don’t look…”

Rumplestiltskin smiled, an oddly bittersweet feeling settling in his chest. “You didn’t break the curse.”

Her brow furrowed. “Does that mean it’s not True Love?” She shook her head, hands smoothing nervously down her rumpled skirts. “That can’t be… the soulmarks…”

Rumple grasped both her her hands and kissed them. “It was True Love’s Kiss, Belle. You felt it too, didn’t you?”

She nodded, eyes still uncertain. “Then why… How?”

He pulled her into his arms, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “I don’t know. Soul magic is the oldest there is. Perhaps it knows what I need. My destiny demands magic…”

“And mine is entwined with yours,” Belle whispered, feeling Rumplestiltskin nod. She wasn’t really sure what this meant for them. Would the Curse hold until it was time for it to be broken? Was there darkness in her, as well? Or was she meant to be the balance to his? She clung to her lover, her soulmate and closed her eyes. All she did know was that they had a whole lifetime and library full of books to figure it out.


End file.
